


If "if's" and "and's" were "yes" and "please"

by Band_obsessed



Series: If Wishes Were Horses [2]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s02e22 The Wire, Here's the happy ending I promised y'all!, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 12:37:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21632599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Band_obsessed/pseuds/Band_obsessed
Summary: Sequel to 'No Work For Tailor's Hands'Garak grows distant, and Julian is determined to discover why.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Series: If Wishes Were Horses [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1491662
Comments: 20
Kudos: 146





	If "if's" and "and's" were "yes" and "please"

**Author's Note:**

> *Posts this two and a half months later and ducks out*
> 
> Okay, so, um, hi. I honestly thought that this would be written _way_ sooner than it actually was :') For some reason this decided to fight me at every turn and at times it felt more like it was writing me.
> 
> Anyways! 12k words later and it's _done_! This honestly wouldn't have been possible without my [beta](https://ladymostdeject.tumblr.com/). She's honestly the best and if it wasn't for her cheerleading and editing, I honestly don't think this fic would have been written at all!
> 
> It goes without saying that all mistakes left in this fic are my own :)
> 
> This is set loosely during 'The Wire', and, as such, some dialogue has been borrowed. All credit from the borrowed dialogue goes to those who originally wrote it. (pls don't sue me)
> 
> I really, really hope you all enjoy this one, and I'm so sorry for leaving it, like, 3 months between the fics! :')
> 
> (Title credit from If Wishes Were Horses (the poem) )

Garak was distant, Julian observed, chin propped on his hand as he half-listened to whatever it was Garak was saying. It was commonplace small talk, something bland about business, about the new commissions he had received. There was no _life_ in the words, they sounded stilted, forced, as if Garak was simply uttering them to fill the empty space that the silence between them would otherwise occupy. It shouldn’t surprise him, Julian had, after all, watched the distance grow between them each week with something akin to anxiety clawing beneath his skin. He moved his gaze from Garak’s face to his plate, a frown tugging at his brow as he tried to think of a way to breach the topic again, pry an answer out of Garak, one way or another. Sadly, it seemed that he had run out of tricks.

The first time he attempted to broach the subject had seen him standing in the small kitchen of Garak’s quarters, lip drawn between his teeth as he puzzled out the finer details of Garak’s statement, head-spinning, and questioning whether he was, in all actuality, going insane.

_”I assure you, Doctor, I just happen to be remarkably busy. I do believe I informed you of the increase in commissions I received a few weeks ago.”_

_Julian nodded, a small flush of shame rising to his cheeks, and if his eyes hadn’t shifted from Garak’s face to the counter, he would have caught the tail-end of a look close to longing, seen Garak’s hand twitch slightly by his side._

_”Yes, of course. I’m sorry, Garak, I just wanted to…check in on you.”_

_Garak’s smile was polite, but Julian knew a dismissal when he saw one, and stepped backwards, clasping his hand behind his back to give his fingers something to hold onto. He had been_ sure _Garak had been different, distant, and now—now he wasn’t certain, had no way of knowing whether Garak was telling the truth, his face betraying nothing but an air of indifference._

_”I will try my very hardest to meet you at our regular time tomorrow, but I may be a little late, I’m afraid, you know how it is.”_ _Julian didn’t. He nodded anyway. The doors slid closed as he stepped out into the corridor, and he stood in place, a feeling he didn’t dare to place rearing its head._

Four months later and he tried again. Garak’s absence had become palpable, the chair across from him empty most weeks, and the PADD in Julian’s hand was no longer an adequate distraction from the hurt bubbling inside of him. 

_”Ah, Doctor, I do apologise for the delay,” Garak said, seamlessly slipping into the chair opposite Julian, smile fixed in place. The anger Julian had felt not a minute ago wilted into mellow relief, and he couldn’t help but return Garak’s smile with one of his own, genuine and pleased. This time Julian_ did _catch the look in Garak’s eyes, something small and pained before it was extinguished, replaced with nothing but polite nonchalance._

_”No, not at all. I’m just happy to not be eating alone.” The_ ‘again’ _went unspoken. “Are you sure you’re alright, Garak? I know you said you were busy but this seems…” He tailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence, words hanging lamely in the silence between them._

_”Frankly, Doctor, you must be aware that there are other things I do besides working and meeting with you.”_

_The words were sharp, pointed, and Julian broke Garak’s gaze, fingers tightening around his fork for a moment as he waited for the hurt to ebb._

_”I know, I’m not trying to…insinuate anything, I just—If there’s anything I can do Garak, you only have to ask me.” _ _Garak remained silent, and Julian kept his focus trained on his plate, unsure of what he’d see should he glance up._

_”Thank you, Doctor, should any issues arise that aren’t related to my work, I’ll be sure to seek your counsel.” Garak’s tone was softer, and Julian found the courage to raise his eyes once more, meeting Garak’s. His chest tightened as Garak offered the smallest of smiles, a bare quirk of his lips. _

_Afterwards, when Garak had left, and Julian was once again left with the crushing weight of his absence, it dawned on him that Garak hadn’t even bought lunch._

The third, and final, time had happened after Garak had stopped showing up to their lunches altogether, and Julian, after days of trying, had finally cornered him, confronting him over his prolonged absence. _That_, Julian, thought miserably, _had gone about as well as could be expected._

_Garak’s shop was empty when he entered, and something about the barren expanse of the interior set Julian more on edge, mind struggling to compare what he was seeing and what Garak had told him. His fingers skimmed a length of fabric, some kind of silk in a rich blue, the colour not dissimilar from the blue of his uniform, but decidedly _softer_, nicer._

“_May I help you, Doctor?” Garak asked, and Julian let the fabric slip from his fingers, turning with a small blush at being caught. He met Garak’s eyes, momentarily unsure what exactly he had come to say. At Garak’s arched brow he cleared his throat, straightening up and stepping away from the wall of fabric._

“_Ah—You haven’t made our lunches for six weeks now, I was wondering if everything was okay?” Julian winced at the uncertainty in his voice, and wondered _when_ exactly talking to Garak had become this difficult, his every word stilted and awkward._

“_Doctor, I fear I am beginning to tire of this continuous discussion.” _

“_Then just _answer_ me!”_

“_I think you’ll find that I—”_

“_No. I mean properly, Garak. You say you’re busy with commissions? I can’t see any work anywhere.” Garak opened his mouth to protest, and Julian silenced him with a finger held up. “And _don’t_ say that they're kept elsewhere. I’ve been to your quarters, Garak, several times, and you _never_ take commissions home with you.”_

“_How astute of you, Doctor,” Garak retorted, and something inside Julian flinched from the harshness of his tone, “But have you ever considered that there are some aspects of my life that are private? Or do you make a habit of assuming my days consist of nothing but yourself?”_

“_That’s not what I—”_

“_Isn’t it? Has it also occurred to you that there are some of my patrons who prefer privacy when it comes to their clothes, and that I don’t display them for the whole station to see?”_

_Julian’s jaw clenched, chest tight at how foolish he felt, how childish._

“_Even if that is true, Garak, you could at least _tell_ me if you’re too busy to meet with me, instead of leaving me to sit alone every week!”_

“_Well then perhaps you should assume I won’t be making our lunches anymore.” Garak’s tone was final, and Julian felt his shoulders sag before he could stop them, frustration burning bright behind his eyes._

“_If you’re so bored with me, Garak, you only have to say.” Julian turned, hiding his face and the flush of humiliation that coloured it, although a sinking part of him knew that Garak had no doubt already seen. The doors to the shop slid open, and Julian closed his eyes briefly against the onslaught of noise from the promenade. He didn’t turn back, walking straight to the infirmary despite feeling Garak’s eyes trained on his back._

Despite what Garak had said, a week later saw him sitting at their table, a polite, fixed smile on his lips that Julian couldn’t help but shiver at. It was amicable but cold, a clear reminder of the distance that still separated them, despite the fact that they shared lunch once a week. 

“I do hope I’m not boring you, Doctor?” Julian’s eyes snapped up at the hidden reprimand, cheeks flushing as he offered a small smile.

“No, no, I was just thinking,” he replied, casting the line and waiting to see if his lure had worked. _It would have_, Julian thought bitterly, _before everything became so…so different_. Garak didn’t reply, just nodded, once, before taking a sip of his drink, remaining silent. Julian’s stomach clenched, and his fingers tensed around his fork, a stab of hurt running through him. There was a time when Garak would go to any length just to hear his thoughts, Julian mused, where he would listen with rapt interest to every word he said. He wouldn’t always agree, but he would always listen. Now, it seemed, he didn’t even want to do that.

“I should be going, Garak. I need to be back at the infirmary soon anyway,” Julian spoke, standing up and pointedly not looking at his only half-eaten lunch. A small part of him was vaguely aware that this was exactly what Garak wanted, for Julian to create the distance so Garak didn’t have to do it himself. _Well,_ he thought, _be careful what you wish for._ “Thank you for your company,” he added, an afterthought, bitter in his mouth, and he turned, picking up his PADD on the table before walking away. He didn’t need to turn around to know that Garak wasn’t watching him go. 

_///_

Work was slow that day, and Julian found his eyes burning after hours upon hours of staring at consoles, the words blending together as his head swam with thoughts of Garak. His thoughts did not slow as his shift ended, and when he finally stood on tired, aching legs, something resolute had worked its way into his head, taking root until a concrete plan had been formed. He dimmed the lights in his office and headed out onto the promenade, walking in quick, measured strides towards Garak’s shop.

Despite Garak’s earlier tales, his shop was barren and devoid of customers, and, Julian noted, any visible commissions. The barest hint of worry nagged at his stomach, burning bright and hot for a moment, two, until Julian extinguished it, walking further into the display room in hunt of Garak.

“Ah, Doctor,” Garak greeted, looking up from his work in front of him, a simple dress hemmed with delicate lace detail, “I assume you have come by to apologise for your earlier leave of absence?” Anger bubbled hot and bright under Julian’s skin, and he searched Garak’s face for any evidence of a joke, the telltale glint Julian had once come to know as teasing. There was nothing, and the absence of any emotion in Garak’s features had Julian drawing a sharp breath, ribs aching with the effort.

“Actually, Garak,” he snapped, patience running out, “I rather think that _you_ should be doing the apologising.” Garak’s hands dropped the tool he had been holding, favouring instead to spread out before him, a placating, innocent gesture that made Julian’s skin crawl.

“And what, Doctor, do I have to apologise for?” Julian seethed, frustration licking at his skin like white-hot flames, fingers curling towards his palms.

“Your general attitude would be a good place to start, or have you not noticed how cold you’ve been? If you really find our lunches that boring, then please, by all means, don’t feel obligated to show up.”

“How kind of you, Doctor, truly. Although I do seem to remember when I tried to take my absence before, you insisted rather vehemently that our weekly gathering continues.” 

“That was different, Garak, I was _worried_ about you. I see now that that concern was misplaced,” Julian snapped, inhaling in an attempt to control himself, humiliation flashing through him at how _composed_ Garak was, at the way he was looking at Julian with an expression close to disdain. “Please, by all means, feel free to ‘take your absence’ whenever you please.” He turned to leave, hands fisted at his sides when he heard a sharp intake of breath, followed by a shallow, wheezing sound and he snapped back around, anger melting into blinding worry.

“Garak? Are you all right?” He eased Garak’s hands away from his head, replacing them with one of his own, fingers clinical in their touch, but a sense of fear causing his digits to linger over Garak’s temple, double-checking his pulse, his temperature.

“I'm fine,” Garak hissed, flinching away from Julian’s hands and Julian held him steady, a hand coming to grip his shoulder firmly.

“You don't look fine. Your skin is clammy and your pupils are contracted,” he retorted, eyes scanning across Garak’s features once more, noting all the slight inconsistencies, the differences, “come with me.” The hand on Garak’s shoulder attempted to guide them towards the shop’s opening, but Garak held firm, feet rooted into the floor in an immovable stance. 

“Doctor, what do you think you're doing?” A beat. Two. Julian raised an eyebrow at Garak’s deliberate insolence, concern mingling with an all too familiar irritation.

“I'm taking you to the Infirmary.” 

“That won't be necessary. “

“Maybe not, but humour me,” Julian sighed, trying once again in vain to move Garak. With a speed Julian truly hadn't been expecting, Garak had wrenched Julian’s hands off of him, holding them both tightly in one of his own, fingers digging into the bone of Julian’s wrists.

“Frankly, Doctor, I'm a little tired of humouring you,” Garak snapped, words cruel with intent and Julian flinched, “I believe you previously permitted me to take my absence whenever I should like, and I am taking it now. I’m afraid I won’t be making our lunches, anymore, Doctor.” He dropped Julian’s wrists, and Julian resisted the urge to rub them, to soothe the blossoming bruises. He stood, dumbfounded, hurt spreading through him as he watched Garak’s retreating figure, worry blooming anew as Julian realised he hadn’t even bothered to lock up his shop. 

///

True to his word, Garak wasn’t present the next week for his lunch. Nor the week after. The small glimpses of him Julian had managed to catch were fragmented and incomplete, a flash of his hair, his back, a snapshot of his eyes, before he was engulfed in the crowd once more. Still, he sat at their table at their usual time with his lunch and a PADD in hand, an open invitation. As the minutes ticked by, the echoes of Garak’s words only grew louder until Julian was swallowing past the lump in his throat, wondering _why_ Garak was suddenly bored of him, and, more to the point, wondering why he even cared.

It was only when their usual lunch hour was up that Julian stood, feeling strangely hollow at the prospect of returning to the infirmary for his shift after yet another lonely lunch, the worry heavy and sour on his tongue.

_///_

The rest of Julian’s week was mundane, treating the occasional headache in between his research work, trying resolutely not to dwell on Garak’s absence, or the way it left him feeling strangely bereft, finding himself missing their lunches, even in what they had become. _Silence_, Julian thought, _is a lot more companionable when you have somebody to share it with_. When his COMM badge chirped it was a welcome distraction, and he answered with uncharacteristic haste, only feeling vaguely guilty at the relief a medical emergency would bring him. That relief was very, very short-lived.

“Quark to Bashir.”

“This is Bashir.”

“Doctor, I need you in my bar right away. It’s Garak.”

_///_

Garak being drunk was a spectacle Julian never thought he would witness. His usual calm composure was diminished, a sense of poorly controlled anger taking its place as he wrestled Quark for the bottle, eyes set and dark.

“Come on, Garak. Don't you think you've had enough?” Julian hung back, watching, remembering all too well his previous encounter with Garak and not knowing entirely _how_ his presence would affect the situation.

“On the contrary. Anyone who talks about the numbing effects of your liquor is severely overstating the case. “ At Quark’s bitten off snarl at the remark, and after a particularly hard tug from Garak, Julian stepped forward, hoping to, at the very least, diffuse the quickly escalating situation.

“What's all this?” If Julian were a lesser man, the look of relief in Quark’s eyes would amuse him.

“He came in complaining about a headache. The next thing I knew he drank up half my stock of kanar!” Garak, momentarily subdued by the change in Quark’s attention, turned to face him, a small, genuine smile gracing his face, the first one Julian had seen in eighteen months.

“Doctor, what a pleasant surprise. I apologise for my outburst the other week, but I promise I'll make it up to you. Please, join me. “ Garak’s tone was warm, inviting, and Julian hesitantly approached, perching on the stool next to him, unsure of just what trap he was wading into.

“I think I will.” Garak’s smile grew and Julian was suddenly overcome with the urge to reach forward, to lay a hand on Garak’s arm like he’d done so many times before, before everything had fallen apart so spectacularly. His fingers itched with the compulsion, distracted only by Garak’s outburst at Quark.

“What are you doing?” Julian saw the bottle in Quark’s hand, saw Garak snatch it back from him, the widening of Quark’s eyes betraying the sheer strength Garak had used. Julian took the moment to reach forward, place his hand on Garak’s upper arm, placating.

“I think it's a little noisy in here. I prefer to drink somewhere quiet.” It was a whispered admission, secretive, and Garak nodded, pleased with the suggestion.

“An excellent idea! We'll go to my quarters.” Julian smiled, open and honest, and gently took the bottle from Garak’s hand.

“Whatever you want,” Julian assured, pulse jumping as Garak took hold of his wrist, fingers clasping around it in a gentle hold, so starkly different than the one in his shop had been. He looked fond, soft, and Julian was suddenly reminded of the morning in the infirmary all those months ago, Garak, almost bashful, raktajino in hand. Something nagged at the back of his mind as he recalled the memory. He brushed it aside, focusing on getting Garak to in the infirmary, to monitor him. “But first I must make a stop at the Infirmary.” Garak froze, smile slipping from his face, and Julian knew he’d misstepped, cursing himself as Garak released his wrist from his grip as if it had burned him.

“The Infirmary? My dear Doctor, what kind of fool do you take me for? Now give me back my bottle.” The fondness had gone from Garak’s eyes, replaced with a hardness, cold and calculating, impenetrable. “Give me my bottle!” Julian tucked his hand behind his back, feeling Quark take the bottle from his grip.

“I will, Garak. In the Infirmary.” Julian’s tone was kind but firm, but the hardness in Garak’s gaze remained, jaw ticking with frustration.

“I'm not going to the Infirmary and I refuse to play this ridiculous game! Now give me — give me —” A strangled groan left Garak’s lips and Julian’s chest seized as he watched him stumble, falling to the ground. Julian was over him in an instant, fingers on his temple, counting out the beats of his pulse before running a medical tricorder over his body to further assess the damage. Julian barely took in the results, fear gripping him as the warnings filled the screen. He was aware of Garak murmuring something, and Julian had raised his hands to cup Garak’s face on impulse, thumb gently caressing the ridge around his eyes, other hand carding through his hair in a way he hoped comforted Garak as much as it soothed himself.

“Bashir to Ops. Medical emergency. Two to beam to the Infirmary. Energise.”

///

Garak’s hair was in disarray. That was the first thing Julian noticed as he stepped out of his office, eyes tired from staring at consoles, monitoring vitals. Julian was overcome with an urge to brush it back, tuck the strands neatly behind Garak’s head, the way he always wore it. It seemed wrong to see him like this somehow, vulnerable, exposed. His fingers twitched at his sides and he gave in, raising a hand slowly to gently card his fingers through the feathery strands that had fallen over Garak’s forehead, brush them down and back, fingers lingering over his temple to read his pulse for himself. 

The scans had been inconclusive, simply showing that Garak’s entire organ system was failing, without the why, the how, or any hope of a cure. His jaw ticked as he closed his eyes, the stress and severity of the entire situation barrelling into him at full force. His fingers momentarily hesitated in their ministrations as Julian swallowed past the nameless emotion rising in his throat. 

Frankly, Doctor, I'm a little tired of humouring you.

Julian knew the words were meant to hurt, sharpened to a fatal point, and the apology Garak had offered earlier did little to soothe the sting they had left. He wondered how much of that statement was true if Garak really had grown tired of their lunches, of him. His eyes burned, another hand fisting in the sheets of the biobed, grappling for some form of control, something he could clutch onto. His arm shook with the effort it took to not reach out and grab Garak, shake him awake and demand answers that weren’t shrouded in metaphor and lies. When he finally withdrew his hand he sighed, watching as Garak’s eyelids fluttered, movement shifting beneath the thin veil of skin, and Julian idly wondered what he was dreaming about.

“Doctor,” Odo greeted, and Julian startled, stepping back from Garak’s bed too quickly to be inconspicuous, and if the narrowing of Odo’s eyes were any indicator, he thought so too. 

“Constable! What can I do for you?” Odo cast a look over Julian’s shoulder, no doubt taking in Garak’s current state for himself, and a small irrational part of Julian wanted to block Garak from view, keep him from prying eyes and judgement. Julian had taken a slight step backwards, catching himself before following through with the movement, but allowed his fingers to rest on the sheet that covered Garak’s arm. Odo diverted his gaze back to Julian’s face.

“I think it would be more...appropriate to discuss this matter somewhere more private,” Odo replied, and Julian nodded, fingers briefly curling around Garak’s wrist. He had grown accustomed to the anxiety sitting heavily in his stomach, but the prospect of leaving Garak unattended for any length of time made it spike in a sharp, painful twist. 

“My office or yours?” Julian asked, and fought down the blush threatening to rise as Odo raised his eye at Julian’s lingering touch, meeting his gaze with one of his own.

“I believe my office would be more suitable for this particular meeting,” Odo started, “That is, of course, if Mister Garak is in a position to be left alone?” Julian swallowed down the response that had first come to mind and nodded.

“He will be. Let me just place a few safeguarding parameters before we leave.” Odo nodded, stepping back to wait by the door as Julian turned, adjusting the device on Garak’s forehead to administer a sedative, and trailed his fingers down the side of his face before pulling them back, chest uncomfortably tight.

“I’ll be back soon,” he murmured, more for his own benefit than that of Garak’s, and adjusted the sheet covering his form. When he turned to leave, he faltered in his step, catching the tail-end of an unreadable emotion in Odo’s eyes.

“It seems you care a great deal about Mister Garak’s comfort, Doctor,” he remarked, and something inside Julian bristled, too tired to read fully into the insinuation.

“Of course I do,” Julian replied, voice heavy with fatigue, “I’m his physician. I care about all my patients.” Odo was seemingly pleased with his answer, a smirk slipping across his features. 

“Really? I didn’t see you…caress Quark when he came in last week complaining of a toothache.” 

“Are you trying to imply something here, Odo?” Julian asked, patience fraying, “because if it’s all the same to you, I’m afraid I don’t have time for games. Garak is my patient and my friend. Nothing more and nothing less.” Odo replied with a smile, smug and knowing, and followed Julian out of the infirmary.

///

Julian’s meeting with Odo had left him with a renewed sense of urgency gnawing at his stomach, the need to do something humming under his skin, reverberating in his bones. He had all but run back to the infirmary, slipping inside and heading straight for Garak’s bed.

“Computer, report on the status of patient Garak,” he asked, running a hand across his forehead in an attempt to quell the headache blooming behind his eyes.

“Patient Garak is no longer in the infirmary.” Julian froze, blinking once, twice, as he tried to understand how that could be. He’d administered the sedative before leaving the infirmary, strong enough to keep most humanoids asleep for at least another six hours. Most humanoids. Failing to account, apparently, for Cardassian tolerance, he thought dryly.

“When did he leave?” He dimmed the lights once again in the infirmary, making his way back towards to promenade.

“Patient checked out at zero three twenty hours.” Julian sighed and exited the infirmary for the second time in as many hours.

The walk to Garak’s quarters was a short one, and Julian thumbed the door chime as he came to halt, jaw clenched and emotions roiling.

“Garak? Are you in there?” When silence was all that met his question, he paused, hesitating for only a moment, “Computer, open the door to chamber nine oh one, habitat level H three. Emergency medical override Bashir one alpha.” The door hissed open and Julian stepped forward, heart racing as he prepared to find the worst, chest tightening as he scanned the floor.

“Ah, Doctor, what a pleasant surprise. I'm sorry, I must've missed the door chime.” Julian noticed the hypospray in his hand, and his blood slowed, feet carrying him towards Garak in quicker steps than he thought possible.

“Just what the hell do you think you're doing?” Garak’s hand was cold under his, skin clammy and Julian couldn’t resist wrapping his fingers around his palm, holding him steady. “Triptacederine,” he stated, tilting his head to read the label and Garak hummed, moving to jerk his hand away from Julian’s touch. Julian held tighter, other hand guiding Garak’s head, angling it to face him, to take in his contracted pupils, the dark grey flush to his skin. “How much of this did you take?” 

“A mere thirty cc's. Not nearly enough, I'm afraid,” Garak replied, nonchalant and infuriatingly composed, and Julian resisted the urge to shake him, instead reaching to grab his shoulder, wrenching the hypospray from his hand.

“Thirty cc's would anaesthetise an Algorian mammoth.”

“We Cardassians must be made of sterner stuff. I barely feel it.” Julian scoffed, letting Garak slip from his grasp as he crossed the room, Julian’s eyes on his back, watching intently.

“Yes, I happened to discover that after you managed to up and leave the infirmary despite adequate sedation,” Julian retorted, crossing the room to stand behind Garak, the hypospray clutched possessively in his hand as Garak searched through his supply of medication.

“My hypospray, if you please,” Garak said, voice cold, lacking any hint of the implied politeness, and Julian clenched his teeth, fingers curling around the hypo as Garak turned, his hand held out expectantly. 

“Another dose of triptacederine might kill you.”  


“Thank you for your concern, Doctor, but I'd rather have the hypospray.”

“I'm not going to let you commit suicide. I'm here to help you!”

“I’m afraid I don’t want your help, Doctor.” Garak winced, fingers coming to press against his temple, applying pressure to stave off the pain, eyes remaining closed.

“Garak,” Julian breathed, his hand gentle as it reached out, resting on Garak’s arm. Something protective curled inside his stomach alongside the ache of fear that had refused to leave him. “We’ve got to get you to the infirmary.” 

“My dear Doctor, I have no intention of putting myself on display for the amusement of the Bajoran inhabitants of this station,” Garak hissed, the endearment cruel on his tongue, mouth twisting into a smirk as Julian flinched.

“It's not your pride I'm worried about. It's that implant you're carrying around inside your head.” Julian took only a small sliver of pride in the way his voice remained steady, his chest tight. He watched as something akin to shock flashed briefly across Garak’s eyes, before settling into a cold weariness.

“You know about that, do you?” Garak set aside the medicine, and Julian inhaled, lungs relishing in the air flooding them. He set the hypospray on the table, turning Garak by his shoulders.

“Talk to me Garak, _please_,” Julian pleaded, aware of the desperation in his voice, and for a brief moment, he felt Garak’s fingers twitch, moving up to rest at his waist. Julian stilled, brows tugging down into a frown at how easily Garak’s hand settled perfectly into the slight dip of his waist, thumbing over the slight jut of his bottom rib. He tensed under the ministration, mind racing, and felt his heart drop at the unfiltered, raw expression of momentary fear across Garak’s face. His hand dropped from Julian’s waist as he hastily stepped away, eyes flitting to the hypospray Julian had discarded.

“It’s time for you to leave, Doctor.” Julian’s mouth opened, tongue fumbling clumsily with words, trying desperately to make sense of the entire situation.

“No,” he managed eventually, fingers curling into his palm as Garak stared him down, eyes cold and hardened and Julian struggled to maintain his gaze, something akin to fear crawling up his spine.

“That wasn’t a request,” Garak clarified and Julian lifted his chin in defiance, stilling the tremor in his hands.

“Garak, please!” Julian saw Garak still, watched him swallow, his fingers twitching around the desk he had stood behind. “Just — please, help me understand.” 

“There is nothing to understand, Doctor!” Garak snapped and Julian stepped forward, standing across from Garak, the desk a physical barrier between them.

“Tell me about the device, Garak, what is it?” Garak remained silent for a moment, two, before his eyes slipped closed, a sigh escaping his lips. 

He explained, and Julian listened, jaw tight, fingers embedded in the soft flesh of his palm. Garak’s voice was tight, the words methodical in their description, and Julian wrestled with the urge to rest a hand on his shoulder, have some, _any _form of contact with him, something to tether his own body. 

When Garak’s words trailed to an end, Julian took a step forward, slowly, and attempted to catch Garak’s eyes, to see for himself whether there was anything more that Garak was failing to divulge. Garak’s face was impenetrable, no matter how deep Julian tried to dig, and his brow furrowed, frustration rising. 

“Then why not just shut the damn thing off?”

“It's too late, now. My body has become completely dependent on the higher endorphin levels generated by the implant.” Julian gave in to the urge and rested his hand on Garak’s shoulder, felt him shiver slightly at the warmth it no doubt provided.

“Garak, please listen to me. I’m not going to just walk out of here and let you die. We need to turn that implant off and whatever withdrawal symptoms or side effects you may experience, I promise I'll help you through them.” He felt the hard line of muscle beneath his palm as Garak tensed, reluctant. “I need to know where that triggering device is. Where is it?”

Garak regarded him for a long moment, and Julian could see the beginnings of his mask slipping, eyes betraying the fatigue present. I know the feeling, he thought, limbs aching as the last thirty-six hours caught up with him. Garak must have seen something in Julian’s expression as he sucked in a breath, eyes closing in a poor imitation of a blink.

“The desk, second drawer.” With a final squeeze to Garak’s shoulder, Julian reached past him, opening up the drawer and withdrawing the device. He inspected it briefly before handing it over to Garak, watching and memorising the buttons he pressed. The effects were instantaneous and he felt Garak’s muscle seize, eyes screwed shut as the wave of pain hit him, undiluted and raw.

“It’s okay,” Julian soothed, guiding Garak with the hand on his shoulder, pulling him away from the desk and towards the bed. Garak sat, hesitant in allowing Julian to strip him of his shoes and overgarments. When he was settled Julian stood, brushing his hands over the blankets covering Garak’s form before crossing the room and picking up the hypospray. He loaded it with a low-grade painkiller, unwilling to give Garak anything stronger, before pressing it gently to Garak’s neck, watching his features smooth out marginally. 

Garak’s eyes drooped with exhaustion, the medication taking at least part of the edge off of the sharp, unrelenting pain, and Julian stroked a thumb across his cheek as his breathing evened, counting the passing minutes silently.

“Julian?” He stilled, heart rabbiting in his chest. Julian’s eyes flickered over Garak’s face, watched his eyelids briefly flicker open before shutting once more, and the use of his name, the familiarity and softness…

“I’m here, Garak,” Julian replied, resuming his previous gesture and watching Garak’s face relax further.

“You left,” Garak accused, words softened considerably by the sleep clinging to his voice and Julian’s thumb faltered briefly.

“Did I?” 

“It was most inconsiderate. I’d appreciate if you wouldn’t do so again.” Julian bit back his smile, breath leaving him a huffed laugh.

“I promise.”

“Good.” A moment passed, two, and Garak’s mouth tugged down slightly, “Julian,” he repeated, voice fond in its exasperation and Julian hummed in response, quiet. “This bed is big enough for two, as well you know. I shouldn’t have to ask for you to join me.” Julian blinked, mouth opening to respond before he closed it, not able to find the words he needed to reply to such a statement.

No explanation came to mind, and he took a moment to dig his nails lightly into the palm of his hand. The idea that he knew _anything_ about Garak’s bed was so implausible that he _had _to be dreaming. He struggled for the words to ask Garak what exactly that statement meant, but his eyes had already fallen shut once more, breathing beginning to even out, and Julian doubted that he’d receive a coherent answer should he ask, let alone a _true _one. 

He remained frozen, hovering in the liminal space between accepting and declining Garak’s offer, wondering with a jolt how exactly it _would _feel to share a bed with Garak, how the other man’s arms would feel wrapped around him. Julian held his breath against a small pang of longing, startled as to exactly where that thought had come from. His decision was made for him when Garak’s hand grasped his wrist, tugging him down onto the bed, knees breaking his fall against the mattress.

“Stay,” Garak whispered, voice distant, half asleep, and Julian relented, letting himself be pulled against Garak’s body, face pressed into the dull ridges of his neck, Garak’s chin on his head.

He was once again struck by how easily Garak held onto him, how simply he slotted Julian’s body against his own, as if it were a practised act, as if he had already taken the time to memorise every trough and crest of his form.

_Guess the triptacederine finally caught up to him,_ he thought dryly, unable to conjure up any other explanation for Garak’s sudden change in heart. Julian lay still, listening as Garak’s breathing slowed down and evened out. Only then did he raise an arm, draping it gently across Garak’s waist, and stilled as he felt Garak shift, a hum reverberating in his chest as he pulled Julian closer.

“Computer,” Julian called, softly in the silence, “wake me in three hours.” He paused, before adding, almost as an afterthought, “and increase the temperature by seven degrees celsius.” The change in temperature was immediate, and Julian smiled as he felt Garak’s body relax into the warmth. Fatigue finally consumed them both, and Julian vowed to dwell on why he felt so at home in Garak’s arms when he awoke. 

///

The computer woke him exactly three hours later, the steady sound drawing Julian from the sleep he had found, and he stretched, stilling when he felt arms tighten around him. Recollection flooded back to him in waves, and he reached to grasp the medical tricorder from the table by Garak’s bed. He twisted in Garak’s arms until he was able to take his vitals, check the readouts. Julian’s lips pressed into a thin line, brows tugging down. Seems turning off the device did nothing to affect the damage already done.

The ring of the door chime caused Garak to stir and Julian shushed him, knuckles brushing across his face gently.

“Sleep, Garak,” he murmured, the relief palpable when Garak relaxed once more. Julian counted to five, hoping the nurse outside would be patient enough to wait, before slipping from Garak’s embrace. He opened the door and ushered the medic in, setting up the various equipment as quietly as they both could around a sleeping Cardassian. 

“That'll be all for now. If you need to reach me, I'll be here for at least the next twenty-six hours.” The nurse nodded, placing the medkit on the table before ducking out of the room, and Julian took note of the way the door automatically locked behind them. 

_Guess Garak’s made some modifications to the room security,_ he thought and wondered with no small amount of amusement whether Odo was privy to those changes.

As if summoned by the thought alone, the door chime rang once again, and Julian’s eyes snapped towards Garak, exhaling slowly when he didn’t stir. The dosage of the sedative was feasibly correct this time around, and Julian made a mental note of it.

“Yes?” Julian asked, suppressing a wince when he heard the impatience in his own voice, sharp and biting. Odo simply tilted his head, unfazed by Julian’s tone.

“Doctor, I was hoping I could ask Garak some questions.” 

“He's asleep. He has been ever since I turned off his implant. Come on, we can talk outside.” The door once again clicked shut behind them, and Julian briefly wondered if he could re-enter without disturbing Garak. 

“Doctor, I need to talk to him as soon as possible. I have four cases left in my homicide files which I'm almost certain were committed by the Obsidian Order. If Garak was a member he may be able to shed some light on them.” 

“I’m afraid your questions will have to wait.”

“How long?

“I don't know yet. Constable, Garak's body has undergone a severe shock. I don't know when he'll recover. I'm not even sure if he'll recover.” The words felt heavy on Julian’s tongue, and the sinking feeling that accompanied them did nothing to ease the reality of the situation. 

“In that case I want to talk to him now. Wake him up,” Odo demanded, and Julian stared at him, wondering if he had actually voiced his previous statement aloud. 

“I’ll do no such thing,” he replied, clasping his hands behind his back to keep them from doing something he’d regret, and tried to keep the irritation off of his face. Odo, however, made no such attempt, and his brow furrowed, eyes glinting in the low light.

“Doctor, these are murder cases and Garak may be a suspect.”

“That may be so, but he's still my patient and I won't have him disturbed. So until further notice, his quarters are off-limits to everyone except emergency medical personnel. So, if you'll excuse me, I have a patient to attend to.”

“A patient, Doctor, or something else entirely?” Julian froze at the implication, indignation bubbling hot and incessant under his skin.

“That, Constable, I’m afraid is none of your business. I will alert you when Garak is in a suitable state for questioning. Until then, please, stay out of my way.” Julian keyed in the code to Garak’s quarters and slipped inside, feeling Odo’s eyes on his back right up until the door slid shut. He was left with the unshakable feeling that Odo still remained outside, waiting.

///

Garak was still sleeping soundly, and Julian spared a glance at the monitors, dread settling heavy in his stomach as he watched them slowly deteriorate. The drink he had replicated did little to soothe the ache in his head, and he turned, leaning against the table and watching over Garak, cataloguing the almost indiscernible expressions flitting across his features, a small tug of his lips, brow twitching as his eyelids fluttered. Julian placed the drink down and stepped towards the bed, fingers resting against Garak’s temple, taking his pulse and temperature for himself. When Garak’s head turned towards the contact, Julian’s own pulse spiked, and he forced his touch to remain clinical, and tried his best to not think about how easy it’d be to settle back into Garak’s embrace. 

The thoughts spinning around in his head refused to slow down, now unhindered by exhaustion, and Julian couldn’t help but linger of the why of the situation. A heavy ache still settled beneath his bones when he thought of Garak’s withdrawal, the distance he had tried so hard to establish between them, and it only grew heavier as Julian’s thoughts strayed to a life without Garak. As much as it pained him to admit, that possibility was only looking more and more likely as the hours progressed, and Julian was shocked at how much the idea hurt, what a hollow and empty thing it was. 

The thought lingered longer than Julian would have liked, and the hollow pain only spread until he found his knees hitting the floor with a thud masked only by the cloth of his uniform. One of Garak’s hands had come untangled from the covers, and Julian took reached out before he could think better of it, running the pad of his thumb over the slight ridges there, tracing nails that felt more like short claws. 

_This could be the last time you see him like this._ Alive. Vulnerable. Whole. Julian blinked and swallowed past the lump building in his throat, head angling down to press against the back of Garak’s hand, chest tight. His eyes slipped closed, heavy with the weight of the situation, and he breathed in against the pressure in his chest, feeling Garak’s fingers in between his own, rougher and slightly larger. Garak’s body shifted and Julian froze, paralysed, something akin to guilt pooling in his stomach at the intimate way he was clutching at his hand. An apology was already on his tongue, and Julian stumbled over the first two syllables before Garak rolled, resting heavily on his side. Julian exhaled shakily, taking in Garak’s still sleeping form, and flushed at the pang of embarrassment coursing through him. 

A sigh and a hand in his hair had Julian jolting, eyes darting up to meet Garak’s own, slitted and heavy with the combination of the painkillers and sedatives. The hand wrapped in his own tightened briefly, scales pressing into Julian’s skin and he breathed out harshly, lungs buckling under the pressure. 

“Come,” Garak murmured and Julian relinquished his grip on Garak’s hand, pushing himself up before settling under the covers once more. The space was still cool, and Julian found himself momentarily shivering, unaccustomed to the lack of body heat Garak emitted. 

“Tell me what to do,” Julian whispered, desperation creeping into his voice, and Garak smiled, soft and sad, arms wrapping around Julian’s waist.

“My dear,” Garak started, and Julian stilled slightly at the endearment, heart rate increasing, “there is nothing for you to do except rest.”

“Funny, that’s what I should be telling you.”

“Then let us rest together.” Julian nodded, turning around for a moment to take one final look at the monitors, adjust the various devices around them and set alarms to wake him should Garak’s state change. The arms around him tightened, and Julian looked up to find Garak’s eyes closed once again, the medication and fatigue taking him under. Julian lied awake, listening to the various beeping of the monitors and counting Garak’s breaths in the dark.

///

Garak was crying. It took a moment for the muffled sound to filter through Julian’s ears, jolt him from the light sleep he’d somehow attained. His arm reflexively tightened around Garak’s waist briefly, fingers splayed against his stomach as he propped himself up on an elbow, blinking the remnants of sleep from his eyes.

“Garak?” 

“Leave me alone.” The words were harsh, bitter, but Julian could hear the undercurrents of something beneath them, something raw and exposed. He shifted closer, torso pressing softly into Garak’s back, trying to offer some futile form of comfort.

“I don't think that would be a good idea right now. Your blood chemistry is severely imbalanced. You need to rest,” he murmured, trailing the hand on Garak’s stomach up to his head, palm cupping his cheek gently. He brushed the wetness from Garak’s cheek with his thumb, startling when he heard Garak hiss in displeasure.

“Don't touch me!” He jerked out of Julian’s grasp, standing on shaky feet and Julian jumped up after him, stabilising Garak with a hand on his shoulder, holding steady and firm.

“Just calm down,” Julian pleaded, grip loosening when Garak stumbled forward, all but tugging Julian along with him in his haste to get away.

“I don't want to be calm, Doctor. I've been calm long enough. Look at this place. It's pathetic. To think that this is what my life has been reduced to. This sterile shell, this prison!” A flower vase was next to his hand, and Julian watched helplessly as he lifted it, slamming the glass down onto the floor and watching with satisfaction as it shattered. 

“Take it easy, Garak. Look, you're obviously experiencing some side effects from the deactivation of the implant.”

“Ridiculous. I feel more clear-headed than I have in the past two years. Two years. What a waste these past two years have been.” Garak paused, stepping over the shattered glass with a snarl. “There was a time, Doctor, oh there was a time when I was a power. The protégé of Enabran Tain himself. Do you have any idea what that means?”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

“No, you don't, do you. You don't know much of anything. Tain was the Obsidian Order. Not even the Central Command dared challenge him. And I was his right hand. My future was limitless until I threw it away. Leaving me to live out my days with nothing to look forward to but having lunch with you.”

“I'm sorry you feel that way. I thought you enjoyed my company.”

“I did. And that's the worst part. I can't believe that I actually enjoyed eating mediocre food and staring into at your smug, sanctimonious face,” Garak hissed, rounding the table and standing within arms reach of Julian, face seething and pained, and Julian steeled himself against the onslaught of words, “I hate this place and I hate you.” Garak’s words were clear, spoken with such clarity that Julian found himself reeling, forcing himself to push down the building hurt.

_Later, Julian. You don’t have time for this right now._

“Okay, Garak, and that's your prerogative, but I happen to care about your wellbeing, and right now you need to lie down.”

“You don’t care for me, Doctor, that has been made abundantly clear.” Julian opened his mouth to protest, brows tugged down into a scowl and Garak silenced him with a hiss, his own anger boiling over, “Leave, Doctor. I don’t require your pity.”

“It isn’t pity, Garak! Why is it so hard for you to believe that I am your friend,” something primitive reared its head at the word, a pang of longing, of something Julian didn’t have the time or the inclination to rationalise and he blinked, once, to refocus, “and regardless of what you state otherwise, I do care for you, Garak, and I always have.” 

“You’re delusional, Doctor. All you care about is fixing me, the poor, exiled tailor with a faulty moral compass, ready to be shaped, moulded into the better person you always knew I could be.” The words were sharp, selected with precision to hurt as much as possible, and Julian couldn’t help but rise to the bait, breaking away his gaze and locking it instead on the floor, wondering how they had ended up here, like this, and whether there was ever any coming back from it.

“What’s that quaint little human expression?” Garak asked, and Julian remained silent, jaw clenched to stave off the burn threatening to build behind his eyes. “Have I hit a nerve?”

“Fine, Garak. You win.” Julian’s words were hollow, empty, and the desperation he felt must have shown in his voice as he watched some of the fight drain from Garak’s form, muscles loosening. “You’ll never have to see me again if that’s what you so desperately want.” The words were stiff, mechanical, and Julian loathed the way they hung in the air, final in their decision. The implications were far worse, and he lifted his gaze once more, eyes flitting over Garak’s face, cataloguing every minute expression. Garak’s slow withdrawal from their friendship had been nothing short of agonising, and Julian wondered how exactly it would feel to lose him altogether. 

“Good, then we’re in agreement. Now, I really do think it’s time for you to leave, Doctor.” Garak’s words were somewhat subdued, and Julian resisted the urge to curl his fingers to his palm, drawing instead his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Julian,” he blurted, wincing at the volume of his speech, “you called me Julian, earlier.” The clarification seemed to catch Garak off guard, and Julian greedily took in the small twitch of his features, caught somewhere between shock and fear before settling once again into a facade of perfect neutrality, unreadable. 

“Well, that is your name, isn’t it? And really, Julian, I fear you can hardly hold me accountable for my actions with the sheer volume of medication you currently have me on.” His name was deliberate on Garak’s tongue, a purposeful demonstration and Julian couldn’t suppress the chill that ran through him at the tone, foreign and cold in its utterance.

“It’s more than that, Garak! I keep thinking back to try and work out what I’ve done to hurt you or to push you away or—,” he stopped short, inhaling in a vain attempt to compose himself, “I can’t think of anything. Was it— Did I— I don’t know what I did, Garak, and all I do know is one morning you dropped by the infirmary and the next you were avoiding me!”

“Doctor—”

“No, Garak. If this is it, then just tell me what I did,” Garak’s expression gave nothing away, and Julian’s shoulders dropped in defeat, a hand reaching up to run through his hair. “I’m sorry, Garak. Whatever it was, I— I’m sorry.” Garak’s breath stuttered, and Julian frowned, a few moments passing before he realised Garak was laughing, the noise humourless and grim.

“It’s what you didn’t do, Doctor, that is the issue here,” Garak’s voice was loud in the room, slicing through the lingering tension between them. Julian swallowed, throat dry, and blinked in confusion. 

“I don’t understand.”

“No, I suppose you don’t.” 

“And I don’t suppose you’ll enlighten me?” 

“I shouldn’t have to. I fear I’ve already given you all the pieces you require if you’re half as attentive as you believe yourself to be.” Julian’s jaw clenched at the implication of Garak’s words, caught somewhere between the urge to prove himself and the need to remain hidden. Neither was the correct choice, and he settled for plausible deniability, wondering just how easily Garak could see through his paper-thin lies. 

“You haven’t given me anything! And quite frankly I’m tired of constantly playing this guessing game with you. I’m a doctor, Garak, not a mind reader.” 

“On the contrary, Doctor, I’ve given you plenty. If you fail to perceive the importance in the words, then the fault is entirely your own.” Garak’s face contorted in pain, a brief, imperceptible twitch and Julian’s brow raised, a silent rebuttal of Garak’s earlier claim. 

_And just how attentive do you believe me to be, Garak?_

Julian took a step forward, ignoring the hiss of warning Garak gave as he closed the distance. Garak’s skin was cold, unusually so, as Julian pressed a hand to his neck, documenting the inconsistencies. Garak flinched when he moved his hands to press against his forehead, skimming lightly over the ridges located there.

“You really don’t know when to stop, do you? I’m beginning to sympathise with how Lieutenant Dax must view your repeated unwelcome advances.” Julian’s hands froze, lips pressed into a tight line as he swallowed thickly, hands continuing in their examination. He didn’t voice his reply, kept it safely tucked away, and watch the small gleam of satisfaction in Garak’s eyes dwindle out.

“You need to lie down, Garak.” His voice was steady, muscles in his arms tensed to conceal the minute tremor running through them, meeting Garak’s gaze with steely determination.

“No, Doctor, _you_ need to get off of me!” The words were snarled, and Julian scarcely had time to retract his hands from Garak’s form before Garak reached to grab them, reflexes dulled from the state his body was in.

“Garak.” Having failed to grasp his hands, Garak settled for gripping Julian’s shoulder, fingers pressing into the soft flesh at the base of his neck like a vice. Julian’s hand flew to Garak’s forearm, and instincts had him sinking the pads of his fingers into Garak’s arm before he inhaled shakily, forcing the strength of his grip to lessen.

“Garak, stop this. I don't want to hurt you,” he pleaded, voice shaking with the control he exerted. He could, gods he knew he could, and the instinctual urge to get Garak’s hand off of his shoulder grew with the increased pressure Garak applied. Garak’s hand moved, relinquishing briefly before reaching to clasp more firmly around the column of Julian’s throat, and Julian briefly wondered why the grim look on Garak’s face hurt more than the fingers around his neck. 

His own fingers burrowed into Garak’s arm, holding it tight, and he mentally calculated the minimum amount of strength he could use without dealing harm when Garak’s hand seized, his body following suit, muscles spasming. His legs gave out moments later, and Julian struggled to reach for him in time, managing to break the worst of his fall.

“Bashir to Infirmary. I need an emergency medical team in Garak's quarters now!” The scene of Garak collapsed in his arms was becoming all too familiar, and Julian’s heart ached at the twitching of his features, contorted in pain. He smoothed out the crease in Garak’s brow with his thumb and waited for the team to arrive.

///

The revelation hit Julian when he was halfway back from Cardassia in a half-stolen runabout, stomach working itself in knots as he stared out of the viewer, hands tangled in his lap. The replicator had finishing brewing his raktajino and he stood on unsteady legs to take it. It burned going down and he hissed slightly, head tilting back to rest against the wall. 

_I fear I’ve already given you all the pieces you require._

Garak’s earlier words flashed across his mind and Julian recalled the look in his eyes, somehow both pleading and resigned and he couldn’t quell the burning frustration. He thought back, eidetic memory making short work of the past few months, recalling in painful detail the emotions that went along with them. The last time Garak had been normal was over a year ago, and the last time their lunches had been anything close to what they were was nearing two. 

The pang of hurt didn’t recede, and Julian found himself opening his eyes just to stare at the ceiling of the runabout, a vain attempt to get Garak’s face out of his mind, trying not to picture the growing lifelessness within them as each minute passed. He couldn’t live without him, gods, he couldn’t, and that thought itself made his stomach lurch. The line between anxiety and excitement was thin, and Julian wasn’t currently sure which side he was toeing as the realisation of it hit him. All the gentle touches flitted through Julian’s mind, the lingering glances, and the arguing. He’d read enough Cardassian novels to know what that insinuated, it’d just never occurred to him that Garak would want him, not since he’d looked at Julian like he did a year and a half ago—

The raktajino shook along with hands, a small amount of liquid sloshing from the mug and onto his hand. Eighteen months. It had been eighteen months since Garak had stopped by the infirmary that morning, eyes glinting with a smile that Julian had never witnessed before. Their conversation came back to him in snippets, fragmented sentences. The aliens, their fantasies, the confusion clouding Garak’s eyes, morphing into something painful. 

_Oh gods, Garak._ The thought slammed into him, a pained whine leaving his mouth as he began to see the bigger picture, the change in attitude, the avoidance, all of it. The weight of Garak’s body covering his sprung to the forefront of his memory, the curl of his arms around Julian’s waist, the breath at the base of his neck. It had all seemed so familiar to Garak because it had been.

His heart slowed, the thumping in his ears drowning out the rest of the world as his hands trembled. He placed the raktajino back on the replicator shelf lest he drop it altogether and found himself struggling to inhale quickly enough, all of the pieces finally falling into place. Garak had thought of him, fantasied about him. The idea that he was Garak’s greatest fantasy made Julian’s head spin, fingers clasping onto the back of one of the chairs, jaw tight. Garak… cared for him, and Julian had— gods, he had spent their conversation talking about Jadzia of all people, about his fantasy of her. 

The guilt lay heavy in his throat, and he exhaled shakily, forcing his fingers to relax their grip on the fabric of the chair. The computer console blinked in front of him, alerting him that he’d just entered Bajoran space. Julian mentally calculated the remaining time and lowered himself into the chair, reaching for the medical PADD with a shaky hand. The blood in his ears roared, eyes refusing to focus on anything but the bare minimum, and the thought that Garak might not still even be alive cut him deeper than any knife could. He held the cure to the ailment in his hands, but he ached with the knowledge that Garak’s trust might not be won back so easily.

///

The station was quiet when Julian’s runabout docked, and he exited with the PADD still clutched tight in his hand, as though he feared it would disappear for good lest he loosen his grip. It felt different stepping off of the landing pad somehow, Julian mused, the weight of his realisation still heavy in his chest, and the air somehow seemed colder, the lights darker. 

The jittery feeling in his knees hadn’t dissipated, and Julian found himself pausing momentarily at times on the way to the infirmary, reminding himself to breathe as his emotions wrapped themselves around his stomach in tangled knots as he drew closer to Garak. 

He’ll know, Julian thought with a shaky exhale, Gods, he’ll know. There was only one secret he had ever been good at keeping, and this was as far from that as anything could be. One look at his face and Julian knew Garak would be able to see what he’d found out, see the emotions swimming across his features no matter how much he tried to school them into neutrality. He never had learnt the art of facades, and he found himself silently hoping Garak was asleep. 

The infirmary was quiet, and a quick glance at the biobed confirmed that Garak was in fact asleep, his head tilted to the side, mouth slightly parted. His skin was sickly shade of pale grey and Julian felt his own skill pale, stomach dropping. The various monitors around him eased Julian’s panic somewhat, but the heaviness weighing in his chest didn’t dissipate until his fingers were pressed to Garak’s temple, feeling the weak but steady pulse beneath his own fingers. 

The PADD in his left hand grew heavier, and he skimmed over it once again despite having already memorised the contents. He counted to ten, noting the pulse under his fingers before pulling back, gathering the various equipment he’d need to synthesise the cure. The infirmary remained empty, and throughout his work Julian was helpless against the urge to sit at Garak’s bedside and resolutely ignore the feelings twisting about in his gut. 

The work was slow, and the perpetual anxiety Julian had felt lingering gave way to exhaustion, eyes drooping from the minute Garak’s vitals stabilised, fingers resting against the inside of his wrist, vigilant, even in sleep.

Julian was alone when he woke, the biobed under his head cold and empty, and the immediate panic that spread through him chased any remnants of sleep from his eyes. Julian realised, perhaps belatedly, exactly how he’d been sleeping if his current position was anything to go by, and with a hot flush of embarrassment realised that his head had spent the majority of the night tucked against Garak’s shoulder. 

“Computer, when did patient Garak leave?” 

“The patient left the infirmary at 0723 hours.” A glance at the nearest console told Julian that was twenty-two minutes ago, and the frustration coursing through him gave way to the worry resting heavy in his gut. He idly wondered how many more times he’d have to track Garak down before he’d tell Julian something, _anything_ that wasn’t shrouded in lies.

///

Garak’s door was firmly closed when Julian arrived, and remained so no matter how many times he pressed on the chime. The codes he had tried had been useless, and the curl of anger in his gut only intensified as the seconds ticked by, the corridor empty and startlingly _quiet_. A moment of recollection was all it took for Julian to puzzle out the mechanisms Garak had enforced, and another moment of determined precision saw the door hissing open, defence system effectively neutralised.

The living area was empty and sparsely furnished, strangely barren without the medical equipment scattered throughout the room. A small oblong table sat in front of the sofa, holding nothing but a small pile of books and a single potted plant. Julian’s chest tightened when he discerned the titles, reading down his own personal favourites as if Garak had obtained a list. The top two drew his attention, and his thumb ran slowly down their spines, tracing the covers. He didn’t remember ever even mentioning these titles to Garak and wondered with a sense of unease just how accurate the…_other_ him was.

The door which Julian knew to be bedroom was open, the lights dimmed, and Julian saw Garak’s sleeping form beneath the blankets. He paused, standing in silence and listened to the steady sounds of Garak’s breathing. 

_At least he’s finally getting some rest._

Julian kept his footfalls light as he approached the bed and slowly reached out a hand with the intent to check Garak’s pulse. He never got the chance. Garak’s eyes snapped open, hand-raising at lightning speed to grasp Julian’s wrist, pupils glinting in the low light.

“Sorry—“ Julian gasped, the word startled from his lips by Garak’s sudden movement. Garak’s fingers loosened their grip around his wrist, falling away a moment later.

“I do believe it is vastly considered a crime to enter somebody’s quarters without their express permission,” Garak drawled, voice lower with sleep, softened with something akin to affection, and Julian blinked, the argument he had planned dying on his tongue. Julian watched Garak’s face harden moments later, and ducked his head to break his gaze, feeling strangely as if _he_ was an intruder in the memories Garak no doubt shared of the imposter. “I also remember actively blocking your access codes.” 

Garak’s eyes once again fixed on his, and Julian licked his lips nervously before perching hesitantly on the edge of the bed, thoroughly expecting Garak to push him off. He did not.

“I uh— I knew about the ‘upgrades’ to your door from before, and I hate to tell you that they’re not quite as secure as you think.” Garak raised his brow, arches above his eyes raising with them, and Julian fought down the delirious smile that threatened to bubble up.

“Clearly. But that in itself begs the question as to what you’re doing here, Doctor. I do believe I effectively discharged myself.” 

“That’s not how it works, Garak, you know I need to monitor your vitals for at least another fifty-two hours.”

“I assure you, I’m more than capable of doing that myself.”

“Forgive me if I don’t immediately trust in your ability to be honest, _Elim_.” Garak flinched, a small, aborted twitch of his face, and Julian reflexively reached out, palm covering the back of Garak’s hand before he took in the weight of the gesture. The silence stretched between them, heavy and thick, and Julian lifted his arm, pulling it back towards his own body. 

“I see your little trip held more answers than you planned for,” Garak stated, and Julian’s brow furrowed, wondering how much Garak had already been able to discern from his face alone. 

His tongue remained immobile, useless even as the words turned over in his head, and the feeling of his heart pounding in his chest further fed the urge to turn and leave. Julian wondered whether he’d ever be ready for this conversation, and a part of him wanted to bury the truth, hide it under fake smiles and bristling touches. He’d rather consider Garak an acquaintance than lose him altogether. 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say _you_ were the one whose vitals were in need of monitoring, Doctor.” Garak’s voice jolted Julian back, back to the room, to the bed, to the way Garak’s eyes felt, searing in their gaze on his cheek. Julian recognised the way out Garak had presented him with, and irrational wetness gathered behind his eyes at the gesture, another selfless act Garak was willing to give to him.

Julian blinked back the damp, once, twice, and with a newfound resolve reached forward once again, his palm finding its previous place atop of Garak’s hand, fingers curling around Garak’s own. Garak’s fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around Julian’s hand, and Julian inhaled, blurting out the words before he could think.

“Your shop was shut.” Another breath, slower this time. “I mean— You— Eighteen months ago you told me you were busy. You had commissions, orders, an extra shipment of materials. But something wasn’t _right_ Garak, and I checked. Not straight away, but you started avoiding me not long after, and really you didn’t leave me much choice. That week, the week with the shapeshifting aliens, you never opened your shop, and I couldn’t find any evidence of work you’d taken on…” Julian’s words lost their momentum, and he inwardly winced at how they sounded, embarrassment rearing its head at how childish he appeared. 

Garak’s face gave nothing away, impenetrable in its stoicism, and Julian flushed under the nagging feeling that Garak no longer cared for him like _that_, that the other him had been more than enough for a fling. Something juvenile rose in his chest, indignation at the unfairness of the situation. Garak wasn’t _allowed_ to move on from him, not after Julian had only just realised the way he himself felt.

“Don’t make me spell it out, Garak, _please_. Just— Just tell me if I’m wrong, if I’m—“ _no longer what you want_. 

“You already have your answers, Doctor, do you not?” Garak asked finally, voice loud in the silence of the room, and Julian crumbled under his gaze, frustration ticking into shame. Julian’s hand burned where Garak touched him, the cool scales pressing into his skin, and he exhaled in a rush, snatching his hand back and standing abruptly, legs feeling embarrassingly uneasy.

_You never learn, Jules._

“I guess I do.” A beat. “I’ll send a nurse to check your vitals in a few hours.” Julian’s voice was tight, strained, even to his own ears, and he grew restless as the emotions rose, fingers itching to embed themselves into something, _hard_. He was halfway through the door before he allowed himself to blink, scared the movement from his eyelids would push the building wetness over the edge. 

“Julian.” Julian paused, heart hopeful in his chest. He heard Garak push back the sheets behind him, fabric rustling as he stood. Garak’s presence was palpable behind him, and a hand placed firmly on his shoulder had his body sagging backwards, leaning into the bulk of Garak’s body with a ragged exhale. Another hand placed on his hip had him turning slightly, face blindly seeking out Garak’s shoulder, eyes shut against the fear that Garak would disappear, push him away and leave him alone.

Julian’s own arms raised to embrace Garak’s torso, hands linking behind his back as he breathed shakily against Garak’s neck, the fear and the shame and the frustration of the last week crashing into him. 

“What I meant to say is you must have already known how I…care for you, Julian, whether you wanted to or not.” 

“I didn’t,” Julian whispered, fingers tangling in Garak’s clothing, “You never— you never _said_ anything, and gods, I spent the first two months of our…friendship thinking I did nothing but annoy you. You never told me, Garak, and I— I didn’t even realise how _I_ felt until—” _Until you almost died, until I all but stole a runabout to try and save you, until I realised that I was your greatest fantasy._

“And how do you feel?” Garak’s voice was soft, gentle, and Julian heard some of his own fear mirrored in the cadence of Garak’s words, the concealed apprehension and vulnerability. He pushed back from Garak’s shoulder slightly, half an inch of space between their bodies, and brought a hand to rest against Garak’s cheek. Julian paused, waiting for _something_.

“_Julian_,” Garak breathed, voice bordering on pleading, and Julian closed the gap between them. He gasped against Garak’s lips as his hands came to rest on Julian’s ribcage, thumbs running over the faint outline of bone, and Julian couldn’t stop his own hands from tanging in the locks of Garak’s hair, fingers clenching into a fist. 

Julian whined when Garak drew back, a high, breathy sound, and his head was too busy spinning to feel any shame for the noise. 

“Are you sure, Julian?” Garak asked, and Julian blinked, eyes focused on Garak’s mouth as they formed the words. He leaned in, chasing the ghost of the kiss lingering on his lips and Garak stopped him with a hand to his chest. “Answer me.”

“I’m sure, Garak, gods above I’m sure. I’ve wanted you for so long, _please_.” Something flickered across Garak’s face, a remnant of a memory, something longing and revering, and Julian’s eyes fluttered closed as Garak leaned forward, forehead knocking gently against Julian’s. 

“You have me, Julian, Guls, you’ve always had me.” Julian hummed in acknowledgement, heart racing at the words, and tilted Garak’s head with his thumb, catching his lips in another, gentler kiss. 

And _Oh,_ Julian thought, a resounding echo of _I’m home._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I really hoped you enjoyed it! Comments are kudos are actually my life force :)


End file.
